


PIÈce de Résistance

by shetlandowl



Series: Stony Bingo Card 2017 [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship, You gotta squint to see anything in this fic so get ready to bust out the wrinkle cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:46:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetlandowl/pseuds/shetlandowl
Summary: On an afternoon when Tony is being particularly stubborn about finishing his work and avoiding healthy habits like sleep, nutrition, and sleep, Rhodey does Pepper a solid and takes him to this little bakery in Manhattan that most people don't know about. It's not a place you wander into unless you need to, and it isn't a place you find without help or purpose. But once you've found it, it's a wonder how you ever managed without it.





	PIÈce de Résistance

**Author's Note:**

> For the "truth drug/spell" square on my Stony bingo card.

Tony stopped as soon as he noticed the bold and star-spangled sign painted in proud red, white, and blue on the otherwise plain and unremarkable shop-front window. 

“The Square?” he deadpanned. “You couldn’t find anything more offensive?”

“Look, I’ll let you know when I find Dastardly Pighead,” Rhodey promised and started up the stairs. He opened the door and walked in, waiting on the other side of the threshold. “Trust me, man. You’ll like this place.”

“This is Pepper’s plan, isn’t it?” Tony continued even though he climbed the steps and joined Rhodey and a handful of other customers inside the bakery. “Is this about the pizza and Hot Pockets? Cause I have eaten a vegetable this week, I swear, but if I don’t get the plans for...”

As Tony lost track of his rant about all the work he still had to finish and fell silent, Rhodey’s smile grew more amused and pleased. The bakery they had walked into was a quaint little place that used every square inch of space to its advantage, everywhere a shelf or a table with a plate or jar neatly labeled to identify the cookies, pastries, and cupcakes available. An overwhelming array of colors and flavors were represented, from lemon bars and brownies, to oatmeal bars, strawberry croissants, and pies. All the pies, all presented on a cluster of tables at the heart of the store under a sign that appropriately identified them as the “PIÈce de Résistance.”

“What is this place?” Tony wondered under his breath, which was as close to a positive comment as Rhodey could have hoped for. 

“The best new bakery in town,” Rhodey told him, leading him around the table of pies to the counter. 

“Back for more already, James?” the brunette behind the counter said with a smile. “Is he with you?”

“Peggy, this is my friend, Tony,” Rhodey introduced them politely enough, though he didn’t even bother nudging Tony in the side when the man would barely look away from the display of blueberry oatmeal bars to give Peggy a wave hello. 

“Your friend?” she pouted playfully, “I thought I was your only friend.”

“You are in the top three," Rhodey answered with a smile. "Could you get us some coffee? I’d like more of those brownies, but my friend, he’s been working non-stop, and he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. You got anything for that?”

Peggy smirked to herself as she finished taking notes on their order, then with a smile at Rhodey, she promised, “Have a seat, we’ll bring your order right out.”

“Is this Breaking Bad?” Tony asked in a stage whisper, staring after her as she disappeared into the back, then suddenly cut to Rhodey with a hard look. “Did we just walk into the good stuff? Baking Bad?”

“You said I got to pick our lunch spot,” Rhodey reminded Tony before he could argue, and he took them around to the far side of the cafe where they emerged into a surprisingly spacious garden with tables and chairs for the guests. 

“Rhodey, sweetpea, I think we need to take a giant step back here and think about what just happened. There were no prices listed anywhere. We didn’t even pay—or, are we the payment,” he slowly realized, “an obscure bakery nobody has ever heard of in the middle of Manhattan? This is the front for an organ harvesting operation, isn’t it?” 

“Thirty-two hours, Tony,” Rhodey reminded him in a slow, patient voice. “You need to sleep.”

Tony’s face did a thing—a thing that it does when he doesn't know whether to roll his eyes, groan, or faceplant into the table, so instead he did it all at the same time. “RHODEY. You think a brownie is going to do all that? This better be a special brownie, if you catch my drift— _magic_ brownies.”

“No, _I_ am having the brownie,” Rhodey told him, “not you.”

“Rhooooodeyyyyyy,” Tony whined, “what is this then? Punishment? I sit here and watch you eat a br—oh, hot mama, yes, _yes!_ ”

"Coffee, black, dash of half and half,” Peggy said as he put down a large cup of coffee in front of Tony, then put down a glass for Rhodey. “Vietnamese iced coffee.”

Tony whimpered into the first sip, and it wasn’t until he had finished nearly half the cup that he came up for air. “How is coffee supposed to help me sleep, Kronk?”

“You know that makes you Yzma, right?”

“Timeless, like Eartha Kitt,” Tony murmured in agreement, “damn straight.”

“Unlike you.”

“Unlike me,” Tony snickered into his coffee, uncharacteristically relaxed. “Alright, where’s my brownie? I’m busy and important and I—what’s that?” 

“My brownie,” Rhodey announced with a giant grin, smiling down at the square-cut, inch-thick, dark chocolate brownie that was placed in front of him by a blond waiter. 

“Sour cherry and hazelnut pie, brown sugar crust,” the man said as he placed a square-shaped skillet down in front of Tony. Tony leaned over his pie and breathed it in deeply. “Watch that, it’s hot.” 

Tony’s gaze swept up the well-shaped hand, to the firm forearm, to the thick arms and deep chest and, finally, a devastating smile. Before he thought better of it, his traitorous mouth blurted out, “I know you are, but what am I?” 

“Check, please,” Rhodey said immediately, but the waiter only laughed and waved it off. 

“I want him,” Tony mumbled, eyes following the long legs and wide shoulders that strode away from their table, “in my bed, naked, with tequila in his navel. Unless he’s an outie; I bet he’s got dimples—” 

“Tones! Man, what is wrong with you?” 

“You wanted me to go to sleep, right? Gimme him, I’ll head straight to bed—” 

“He’s not on the menu, Tony,” Rhodey groaned. “Would you just stick to the pie?” 

Tony whined, but since the waiter was out of sight, he turned back to the sizzling square pie placed in front of him. He picked up a spoon and started in on one of the corners, a perfectly flakey bite of buttery pastry with a mouthful of full, tart cherries that burst in his mouth with sweet, comforting flavor that felt like a long hug from his mom, the first task Dum-E learned on his own, and peace. Peace in our time. 

“You alright there, Tones?” Rhodey asked quietly, unsure of himself, and when Tony opened his eyes again, Rhodey was giving him a genuinely questioning look. “You were gone for a minute, man. You okay?” 

__“What is this?” Tony breathed, staring down at his pie. “This is magic.”_ _

“I told you, they do good stuff,” Rhodey said with a pleased grin, returning to his brownie now that Tony seemed to be fine again. “Couldn’t let you miss it.” 

“There’s still the question of how we’re paying for it,” Tony reminded him, but that was all he cared to say on the matter, because speaking was time wasted where he could have been eating his pie. 

“It’s pay as much as you want,” Rhodey finally answered him. “You pay as much as you can, or you think it was worth.” 

Tony blinked at him, then, as a half-joke, he wondered, “Is that how socialism works?” 

“Eat your pie, drink your coffee,” Rhodey said (again), though somehow his lips were still turned up in a smile. Tony glanced at the brownie again and wondered how good it was; probably not good enough to trade for a bite of his pie, though. “Then we’re going back, and you’re going to sleep before anyone lets you into the workshop again. Understood?” 

“Probably for the best,” Tony mumbled around his next mouthful, “I wasn’t getting anywhere with that battery pack… maybe rest will help. And this bakery,” he added, dreamily, around another bite. “This—this is the best pie I have ever had.” 

“Doubt it’s for sale, Tones,” Rhodey said with a grin. “But if you do, I want a friends & family discount for life.” 

“Then I’ll marry her,” Tony told him adamantly, “whatever it takes. I would have her babies. We’ll name them Vera, Chuck, and Dave. We’ll raise them on pie and cold hard cash. They will rule the world.” 

“His.” 

Rhodey and Tony looked up at the blond waiter from earlier who had appeared out of nowhere to refill their drinks. 

“The baker? He. You were offering to marry and have _his_ babies.” 

“Either works for me,” Tony answered easily, and Steve ducked his head when he smiled, a blush rising in his cheeks. Without another word, he picked up the old cups and walked away. 

“James Francis Rock-a-bye Rhodes,” Tony announced in undertone, still staring after the waiter shamelessly. “I want _his_ babies.” 

*** 

The next morning, Rhodey was the first customer of the day at the Square. The bakery was not only empty, but it was quiet and peaceful, overcome with an ethereal calm that soothed him in a way that 5am otherwise couldn’t. 

“You’re up early,” a familiar voice greeted him, and Rhodey turned to see the blond waiter from the day before putting out platters of brownies and lemon bars for the day. “Everything alright?” 

“Classified,” Rhodey said, not without frustration. “Got something for the road?” 

“Sounds stressful,” the waiter guessed, and he watched Rhodey with a thoughtful frown before walking around the counter again. “Can you bring something with you, or are you eating it on the way?” 

Rhodey stepped up a little closer to the counter, stretching as discreetly as he could in an effort to see what the waiter was reaching for behind the counter. “Both.” 

“Take this for the drive,” the waiter suggested as he snapped a top onto a large to-go cup of tea, then popped into the back briefly to bring out two small plates. “Eat the cornbread now, I just made it a few minutes ago. Butter and honey are on the table. This,” he added, closing up the carrying box around a mouth-watering rustic pear pie and pushing it across the counter to Rhodey, “is for later.” 

Rhodey stared down at the small feast of flavors he’d been presented with, momentarily stunned. 

“Baker and a waiter?” he finally asked, shaking his head. He started collecting his plate, his to-go box, and his large cup of tea, but when it was too much for two hands, the waiter picked up the hot tea and just walked with him. “You gotta love this place.” 

“I am the baker,” the waiter corrected, and he placed the tea down at the nearest table. “I own the Square.” 

“Then I have to say, man, your work is outstanding. Nobody could pay you the kind of money you deserve for this place.” 

The man smiled at the kind words, a broad, warm smile that made Rhodey feel calmer and at peace. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he promised. “Come by when you need to, and give what you can. And,” he continued, a little hesitantly, “maybe bring your friend by again? He… I liked him.” 

“Oh, I’ll bring him alright,” Rhodey replied after a beat, grinning at the unexpected gold mine of mischievous scheming he had walked into. “But you’re going to have to tell him that part yourself. With me present, you understand? I’m not missing out on that kind of magic.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Steve agreed in a voice so quiet, it didn’t reach Rhodey’s ears. “Even here, that magic is rare.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you ever feel like a Stony chat, [I'm on Tumblr (as shetlandowl)](http://shetlandowl.tumblr.com/) more often than I should be.


End file.
